I Can Never Let You Know Of What Runs Through My Veins For You
by sctwilightvampwolfgal
Summary: I despise all that you've done, how you left my mother once she passed, to be with me; I can never forgive you for that. *Nyo!Greece.*


I shouldn't write what I feel at all.

I dream of the way you hold me that almost feels safe despite how insufferable you are.

I can't help it that I see your eyes and suddenly am lost in what should be called insignificance.

I have memorized the coarse brush of your beard against my face and know your taste so much better than anything else.

I remember the day you gave up on me not naming my cats and just yelled out a random name in Turkish to express your frustration with the poor kitty.

I can still remember the way you pinned me against the wall and zapped the energy out of me with the way you placed your legs.

I wish that I didn't remember those bitter kisses, born out of deep rage, nor did I want to remember how pleasantly rough you were that time.

I'm not supposed to like you, let alone write a collection of poetry about every last beautiful though infuriating quality of yours, yet I do.

I wished that we could get married and some days, I even draw what my wedding dress would have looked like; you would like it.

It would be like a dress from an old story like the ones you read to me when you were tired and couldn't sleep after long hours working before I grew up; I remember how beautiful they really were as you pronounced each story so bitterly, every single letter more exact than the last one.

It would be full of ruffles and quite girlish, the kind of clothing that you seemed to adore whenever I wore it though it would be a testament to our past, to every single moment that led here.

I've spent too much time reflecting on what they would be like exactly, how it would feel to walk down the aisle, a beautiful dress curling just right around my legs, and how charming 'I do's would be if you'd spoken them.

I hate these daydreams that fill up a void that my reflections lack; I hate dreaming of you when you aren't near to kiss every thought from my head.

I wish that you didn't hold me this way; I wish that I could feel nothing for you and just walk away yet all I can imagine are how your arms hold me and the nearly charming way you kiss my thoughts gone forever.

I'd walked out to tell my mother about you, the other day, though she'd known about you, probably had felt the burn of your skin on hers.

I despise you for that you know, the way you left her side after she'd passed, and pulled me into your arms after I'd became a woman too.

I'd call it incest, but we aren't related; there is no Turkish blood that runs through my veins to further deny you and your touch.

I won't ever let up on exactly how very wrong you are, but I can't let up either on how much I adore every disgusting quality of yours.

You aren't perfect; you're flawed like every hero that my people write about yet I can't ever call you a hero, not for our past, not for the way you left my mother's side and clung to me.

It doesn't matter that she was long gone after you decided to fall for me; I doubt your sincerity often, daydream about how very wrong you are.

I wish that I didn't carry a part of you everywhere I go, wish that I didn't get lost in every emotion, you erupt into my life.

I do wonder sometimes if you've ever thought of our future as marred in the darkness of our pasts as we were; I doubt you'd even dream up the wedding dress that I'd wear if we could get married after all you've never had a very good imagination or knew me as well as you claim to.

I can't pretend to be gentle or sweet if I'm near you; we'd make an awful married couple, always fighting, waging wars against each other in our spare time when all we can see is the darkness that so often surrounded us or the blood of those that we'd lost even centuries ago.

I don't know why you insist on being so egotistically possessive of me though you never tell others about the fact that you are.

I grumble over every mark when you leave to forget why I practically jump in your arms as we fight again and again until one emerges victorious and the other succumbs to the passion in our veins.

I can't ignore or banish the thoughts and feelings that I have for you, no matter how twisted they are; I wish that you'd stop making me long for you when we're apart.

I'll never let you know of the thoughts in my head for you as I could never, ever let you have the upper hand; you're still as much of my enemy as you are my boyfriend, the man that I can't marry due to political ties.

They'd never let us have a chance to be together in that way, every last inch of Greek and Turkish together at last.


End file.
